


brine, on your lips

by courante



Category: Twosetviolin, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Background Character Death, Lighthouses, M/M, Minor Violence, Murder Husbands, Shipwrecks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 07:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30034965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courante/pseuds/courante
Summary: Brett and Eddy are lighthouse keepers.They're also really,reallyinto taking in shipwrecked sailors.
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	brine, on your lips

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be sth based off their irl among us vid but as always - it uhh went in a weird direction. so have a 1910s lighthouse keeper/wreckers au. shoutout to the [flannan isles lighthouse keeper mystery](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PoNCG3PZKII) also (no magic sheep in this fic, sadly.)
> 
> cw: blood, mild gore, neck injury, this being unedited as hell

There was something in the sea air that evening: something rotten and metallic along with the salt, clawing its way up his senses.

Eddy found him by the dock, cleaning a turbot. Scraping the long knife along its sides, shimmering scales fluttering into the sea as the wind started to pick up. Alongside him was a shallow dish weighed down by clean rocks.

“Was a bit stuffy in the kitchen,” Brett said as Eddy approached, without looking up. He inspected the fish with the last vestiges of sunlight and then, deeming it clean enough for cooking, placed it in the dish. It looked up at him with glassy dead eyes: baleful, mutinous.

“Were you waiting for me?” Eddy teased. The wick of their old lamp on the ground was on its last legs, he noted, its flame flickering wildly in the wind. A ways from where they were the remains of last night’s shipwreck was visible, a merchant vessel felled by storms frequent around this area. He smiled. “Come on, you’ll get ill like this.”

Brett rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, too. He carefully placed the knife in the dish and stood, wobbling a little— Eddy reached out to steady him, but Brett shied away at the last minute. He stuck out his tongue, and the knapsack on his back felt heavy. “Nah. Go wash up first, you’ll scare the guests.”

The survivors were huddled together on the other side of the table, eating and chatting quietly. Eddy didn’t know their names; he’d been busy all day searching inside the wreck while Brett kept them entertained. It was not a long sail back to the port city from this island, but the provisioning tender would not be arriving until next week.

Eddy said little as he watched Brett chat with them, only nodding and smiling politely and adding on when they paid compliments to the chef. Whenever they did ask, Brett just shrugged and humored them— _oh, he’s like that, you know how lighthouse-keepers are_ , and then a wink. Brett was a decent cook, and Eddy was very, very shy. Those were not lies.

There were only three of them, anyhow. That was already an easier job than what he’d had to go through earlier. The adrenaline had not completely faded from his system; Eddy watched as Brett reached over with a sympathetic hand as one of them started sobbing, surely upon some reflection of the fates of the rest of their crew. 

As they were preoccupied Brett looked up at Eddy and nodded: _it’s time_.

He pushed his chair away from the table lightly and went to the cabinet for the special whiskey, from a cache perhaps three shipwrecks past. Oh, they kept things and sold things, but alcohol was always a must for these games. The stuff the tenders always brought was not strong enough for their needs, but the transportation bureau didn’t need to know that.

“Hey,” Eddy said gently, tapping on the crying man’s shoulder. The rock crystal glass sparkled in the white light, and he kept his voice low. “I’m sorry, about the wreck… would you like some? Just to forget, for tonight.”

“I think that would be a _grand_ idea,” Brett said with a flourish. The other two men nodded, a little hesitantly. “Maybe some music as well? Eddy—”

“Nah, later,” He winked as he poured. “I’ll serve.”

The flames in the fireplace seemed to dance as Brett played— _Stormalong_ , _Haul on the Bowline_ , the works. They were all dancing to it, after the drink had warmed them up and set fire to their feet. Singing, yelling, slurring to the music; Eddy watched, unable to contain himself as he tapped a finger to the rhythm. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Brett, the whirlwind of emotions he channeled through the wild notes, keeping in beat with the howling winds outside. It was the most beautiful thing and he wanted to spring up and kiss him— but not now. Not while everyone was having a good time.

Everyone was having a good time until they started dropping like flies. 

Alcohol alone was no fun. Brett continued playing without stop, slipping into other, more familiar territory as Eddy crept up to the biggest of the sailors, who had already stumbled into a chair— and cleanly slit his throat, watching blood cascade down the front of his worn shirt. The other two had scarce time to react before they too were downed to _La Mer_. Experience was a good teacher for swiftness, and well—

One of them, the crying one, tried to crawl away as he hit the ground, gurgling; Brett stepped daintily away from the flailing limbs, then brought down his heel on a hand. The resounding _crack_ was unsettling, as was the _pop_ from the fireplace, and still he continued on playing.

“That was _great_ ,” Eddy breathed as Brett came to the end of the first movement. The keep was quiet now, aside from the wind and the drip-drip-drip of blood soaking the wooden floor, inches from their new carpeting. He’d already dragged the bodies onto the canvas they kept hidden behind the bookcase, but Brett still shook his head as he put his violin away, his face slightly flushed.

“You’re gonna have to clean that up,” he grumbled, gesturing at the remaining mess. “And—”

“Aw, baby,” Eddy said, dropping his knife— but just on the dead man’s lap, not the floor. Brett didn’t shy away this time around, even as he muttered something about conserving water as Eddy pulled him into his arms, into a rickety plush chair. They both smelled like blood, and faintly of the sea. “Yeah, I’ll do it later.”

“We’ll do it together,” Brett said, with a sigh. Then he sat up straight, leaning into Eddy’s ear with a low whisper. “The afternoon was okay down there, yeah?” 

“Everything I could find, it’s all in the shed.” _Everything else, the rest of the bodies, I gave the sea_. Brett smirked, and Eddy felt his heart sing. “You always have the best ideas.”

“Maybe I do,” Brett replied, and if he was preening a little Eddy couldn’t blame him for it. He cupped his hands around Eddy’s face. "My turn next time?"

Eddy could taste the faintest drop of alcohol on his lips, from the barely-touched glass still warm on the table. It was sweet, only a touch metallic, and for now that was all he wanted to savor.

**Author's Note:**

> it's not a sea shanty (i think) but meav's [ailein duinn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oMv_3YnlYOo) is my favorite like. sea-related folk song. anyw hope y'all enjoyed :'D
> 
> p.s. wreckers are largely Not A Real Thing but [smugglers](https://www.historic-uk.com/CultureUK/Smugglers-Wreckers/) and ppl who pick off shipwrecks the normal way are totally real - The More You Know ✮


End file.
